On the Edge of Life and Death

Gu Deng felt even more embarrassed. He had written songs for many people: his grandma, his aunt and uncle, his brother, the studio team, and even his manager’s cat. Back then, inspiration came easily to him, and he squandered his talent freely. But when he truly wanted to write a song for someone, he found himself unable to write anything.

Gu Deng covered his face, suddenly feeling a bit overwhelmed. But this feeling didn’t last long. He lifted his head and said, “As friends, I can’t let you suffer a loss. I’ll give you something else as compensation.”

“No need,” Zhang Li replied, “This is enough.”

No matter what Gu Deng said next, Zhang Li didn’t change his mind. Back at the guesthouse, Gu Deng thought, maybe he should finish the song and give it to him. He felt he was in a decent state and might be able to write something.

Gu Deng stayed up late, but achieved nothing.

At noon, he met Zhang Li in the restaurant. They had planned to return in the afternoon, but Gu Deng suddenly said he wasn’t leaving.

Zhang Li looked up from his plate full of fish and meat, “Do you have something else to do?”

Gu Deng: “I want to stay here a few more days.”

Zhang Li: “Do you want me to stay?”

“No need, I can manage on my own,” Gu Deng said, “Besides, I remember you need to go film reindeer, right?”

Zhang Li nodded and didn’t say anything else, finishing all the meat on his plate. Gu Deng absentmindedly cut into his pan-seared salmon, which was probably only a tenth of the portion on Zhang Li’s plate, and took a long time to finish it.

There was no car rental place in town, so after lunch, Gu Deng asked Zhang Li to drive the car back. He said that once he had enough fun, he would find his own way to leave.

“I’ve already found a ride to Seward,” Zhang Li said, “You’re not familiar with this area, so keep the car for yourself.”

Gu Deng said, “Oh.”

Even though he didn’t really need the car anymore.

Then Gu Deng accompanied Zhang Li outside to wait for the car. The wind was strong today, messing up his hair. Gu Deng squinted and looked up at Zhang Li, only to find Zhang Li was also looking at him. Their eyes met, and Gu Deng felt a bit dazed.

Zhang Li, however, was calm and asked, “Do you have any plans next?”

Gu Deng: “No.”

“Then do you…” Zhang Li hesitated for a rare moment, then said, “Do you want to see the reindeer migration?”

Gu Deng was taken aback, then shook his head, “I’m not physically fit for that.”

“I’ve mapped out a low-difficulty route. You just need to follow a few key points,” Zhang Li said, pulling out a hand-drawn map of the reindeer migration from his pocket, with detailed stop information at each node.

The original 500-kilometer hiking route was now changed to a combination of small aircraft and hiking, with stops only at key places, greatly reducing the difficulty.

The paper and crayons were from the guesthouse, and this plan was likely made overnight. But why was Zhang Li inviting him? Even going so far as to change his own route?

Gu Deng was touched, but he really couldn’t go, so he returned the map to Zhang Li and said, “Thank you for inviting me, but I’ll pass.”

Zhang Li didn’t say anything more, and Gu Deng remained silent, with only the sound of the waves in the background. After a while, the sound of an engine came from the roadside, and Gu Deng quickly looked up, only to see the car just passing by.

He let out a small sigh and asked, “Zhang Li, do you want to sleep with me?”

The question was abrupt, yet so natural that Zhang Li didn’t even react.

Gu Deng added, “Ah, I mean, have sex.”

Zhang Li still didn’t respond, but his expression turned a bit unpleasant.

Gu Deng understood, “So you don’t want to.”

Gu Deng felt troubled. He couldn’t write songs anymore, and aside from his still decent looks, he had nothing else to offer.

But Zhang Li didn’t want that.

The air became even quieter, as if even the sound of the waves had disappeared. Just then, another car approached, and before Gu Deng could say anything else, Zhang Li stood up and walked towards the road without a hint of hesitation.

Zhang Li was probably angry, which dashed Gu Deng’s last hope of saying something.

Indeed, he had been too offensive just now, almost like sexual harassment. Gu Deng was extremely dejected and lowered his head, whispering an apology.

But strangely, Zhang Li didn’t leave. He borrowed a pen from the driver and wrote something on the paper. Then he returned and placed the hand-drawn map on the chair.

Gu Deng looked up at him, tightly pressing his lips together.

Zhang Li looked at Gu Deng’s tense face and said, “I’m leaving from Anchorage in three days. If you change your mind, call the number on the map to find me.”

Gu Deng stared blankly at the paper, and as the wind blew it up, he quickly reached out to hold it down. When he looked up again, Zhang Li had already left in the car.

Gu Deng sat by the sea on the chair all afternoon, then extended his stay at the guesthouse and started writing a song again. Forcing himself to write was painful, but Gu Deng still tried to write something.

He had read a post online where someone said they were living a happy life, not lacking money or time, traveling the world, but still felt empty.

The top comment at the time said it was because they were only enjoying life without creating or contributing, and over time, this naturally led to boredom.

Back then, Gu Deng felt fortunate, thinking he was luckier than most people, having chosen the path of creation early on, without having to worry about these issues. As long as he was writing songs, he had a sense of self-worth and wouldn’t feel empty.

Until one day, he realized he couldn’t write anything anymore.

This realization didn’t happen instantly but over a long period. Just as aging slowly robs people of health, curiosity, and focus, the heavens also slowly and cruelly stripped him of his talent, inspiration, and creativity.

At first, Gu Deng didn’t pay much attention, and neither did music critics or fans notice, until a year passed, and Gu Deng hadn’t written anything.

This was impossible for Gu Deng.

From his debut at 12 until his peak at 25, even during concert tours, Gu Deng consistently released an album a year, sometimes even two when he was in good form. He frequently posted various demos and improvised performances on social media.

Back then, music was as simple as breathing for him. He was born with a good voice and a strong creative ability, and he could easily create music that people loved. He even wrote “Cosmic Candy” in just five minutes, and it still topped the charts as the most popular love song.

He was young and full of energy, thinking life would always be bright and joyful. Until the second year, he still couldn’t write anything, and even when he forced himself to write, it didn’t feel right.

Friends in the industry said he had too high standards for himself, but Gu Deng didn’t think so at all. By his standards, this pile of work was just garbage, and he wouldn’t tolerate it being released under his name.

Some suggested he take a break and rest, and Gu Deng did, but it only led to more anxiety. He found he couldn’t stop. Even when he forced himself to stop, his mind was filled with melodies.

Gu Deng thought he was just in a bottleneck period until his private doctor added a psychological evaluation to his health check report—he was diagnosed with severe depression.

This result was completely unexpected for Gu Deng.

People around him were clueless, and Gu Deng didn’t know where the problem lay. Although he was adopted as a child, the aunt who adopted him was always kind and never showed favoritism or abuse. He hadn’t experienced any major setbacks or workplace intrigue.

He was famous and wealthy, just unable to write anything. How did he end up with severe depression?

In the first year after the diagnosis, Gu Deng couldn’t accept that he had depression. He continued to live seriously and actively cooperated with treatment. But a year later, he was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. The psychologist explained that the previous depression diagnosis was a misdiagnosis because bipolar disorder is highly misleading, and patients mostly seek help during depressive episodes.

Bipolar disorder it was, and Gu Deng didn’t care anymore. In fact, he quite liked the feeling of hypomanic episodes.

Gu Deng continued treatment for another six months, and even the psychologist said he was improving. But strangely, he still couldn’t write anything. Gu Deng thought it was the medication affecting him, so he secretly stopped taking it for three months, yet he still could only produce garbage.

From the onset of his illness to the diagnosis, he struggled for four years. But in the end, he realized he could no longer write anything.

It was over.

Gu Deng’s world collapsed.

A singer who can’t write songs, is he still a singer? If he’s not a singer, is he still Gu Deng?

No, once he stopped creating, his sense of self disappeared.

Gu Deng was overwhelmed by a massive sense of meaninglessness. He couldn’t enjoy life, nor could he stop, unless he could write a song he was satisfied with again.

After Zhang Li left, Gu Deng stayed up late again. He looked at the dark sea, trying to recall the times when inspiration flowed abundantly. But until dawn, he still couldn’t finish the song.

At this point, he finally gave up.

He thought, the world is fair. Over the years, he stood out through his creations, gaining countless admirers and honors. But eventually, the heavens took it all back, little by little. His pardon disappeared, and he began to suffer like most people in the world, feeling lost and confused.

The next day, Gu Deng bought a kayak, saying he was going on a long journey. The landlord uncle was very enthusiastic and even gave him two bananas for the trip.

Gu Deng returned to the fjord, which was still pristine and tranquil, but this time there were no whales or Zhang Li.

He turned off the engine, isolating himself from all human traces with the sea and glaciers. Being in this environment evoked a sense of awe and solitude. But Gu Deng wasn’t afraid; he liked being alone. Only when he was alone did he feel complete.

Gu Deng lay on the kayak, watching the sunset fall into the sea, and then the sky filled with stars. The cool sea breeze passed through him, like an invisible hand soothing his emotions.

It was nice. As he neared the end of his life, he seemed to regain the ability to appreciate beauty.

Gu Deng closed his eyes and jumped into the sea.

The water was cold at first, but he soon felt an indescribable tenderness. The sea gently enveloped him, like returning to his mother’s womb.

He thought, he was about to die.

All the happy, sad, and painful emotions would disappear.

He would never see such a gentle sunset again, never hear the whale songs from the depths of the sea.

Music, food, cats and dogs, pianos, basses, guitars and drums, mountains, seas, the sun and the moon, his thoughts, his taste, his creations… nothing would remain.

Everything in the world would vanish with his death.

He would no longer make a sound, not even sing a single note.

His pain would be unknown, his joy unfelt.

All meaning would dissolve, all existence would turn to dust.

The world would collapse into nothingness at this moment.

Thinking of this, Gu Deng suddenly felt a bit sad, and his heart began to race. The increased oxygen consumption made him feel pain.

But why him?

Why did he have to encounter music at such a young age, making it impossible for him to do anything else?

From singing on stage for the first time at seven to deciding to end his life at twenty-nine, three-quarters of his life had been tied to music. Music accompanied his growth and allowed him to realize his life’s value.

Everyone said God favored him, but why did He make it so he couldn’t write anything at his peak?

In the early years of losing inspiration, some people advised him that it was okay if he couldn’t write songs. He was now successful and wealthy and could do other things. Many people in the world were poorer and more miserable than him, yet they struggled to live. Why couldn’t he?

Yes, why couldn’t he? Gu Deng tried to comfort himself this way, but he quickly realized this assumption was meaningless. He couldn’t live without music. Once he gave up music, he was no longer himself.

He fought for four years, tearing up countless drafts, doubting himself repeatedly, yet he couldn’t return to his former self.

He should have understood long ago that when he placed everything on music, he should have known it was a double-edged sword.

Once he couldn’t write songs, he was doomed.

But when people are happy, it’s hard to reflect on themselves.

He was blinded by this dazzling happiness, thinking he was special, that this talent was endless and wouldn’t end.

Until the halo faded, he realized he was just an ordinary person.

How ridiculous.

Even at this moment, he still felt unwilling.

Yes, was he really going to die like this?

If not, where else could he find peace?

The desire to breathe grew stronger, and the instinct to survive surged through his nerves.

But Gu Deng just held his breath, letting his body sink deeper into the sea.

His heartbeat slowed, and his blood began to gather in his heart and brain.

Gu Deng gradually felt his body go numb, and hallucinations began to appear in his mind.

He thought, this must be the legendary life flashing before his eyes.

His life had been quite eventful, reaching great heights and enduring deep lows.

But strangely, at the moment of death, he thought of an ordinary afternoon in high school.

By then, he was already famous, yet he sat in a crowded classroom like every other student, memorizing ancient texts.

Like most high school students, he couldn’t fully understand the meaning of the text.

But he was a good student, and he listened to the teacher, memorizing it well.

What did he memorize…?

The increased oxygen consumption made Gu Deng feel lonely, painful, and helpless, almost unable to continue thinking.

He was acutely aware that death was imminent.

At that moment, a distant recitation suddenly reached him:

“In ancient times, wealth and fame faded away, and they were countless, only those extraordinary were remembered. King Wen was imprisoned and wrote the ‘I Ching’; Confucius was beset and wrote the ‘Spring and Autumn Annals’; Qu Yuan was exiled and wrote the ‘Li Sao’; Zuo Qiuming lost his sight and wrote the ‘Guoyu’; Sun Bin had his feet cut off and wrote the ‘Art of War’; Lü Buwei was exiled to Shu and wrote the ‘Lü’s Annals’; Han Fei was imprisoned in Qin and wrote ‘On Difficulties’ and ‘Solitary Indignation’; the three hundred poems of the ‘Book of Songs’ were mostly composed by sages in distress.“①

Those high school classmates, whose faces had long blurred, mixed with his own voice from over a decade ago, reached him across time and space.

For ten years after memorizing it, Gu Deng couldn’t understand the meaning of this passage.

He was too young and too smooth-sailing at the time, not knowing what the pain in this text meant, nor understanding the determination and willpower the sages needed to endure such pain.

He just remembered the passage.

And over a decade later, as he fell from his peak to his lowest point, he happened to resonate with this text.

It turned out that more than two thousand years ago, many people had experienced the same fate as him. He wasn’t alone; there were others in the world who were as pained, confused, and lost as he was.

The thick seawater enveloped him like an invisible embrace.

There was even less oxygen in his lungs, and even his brain began to slow down. In the dense darkness, Gu Deng suddenly opened his eyes—he didn’t really want to die; he just didn’t know how to live.

Gu Deng mustered all his strength to swim towards the surface, but it was pitch black around him, and he had no idea which direction to go. He just followed his instincts and swam upwards.

A string of bubbles escaped from his mouth and nose, evidence of the oxygen being used up. The sea pressed against him, and the pain of wanting to breathe intensified. Another bubble slipped away like a small fish, and he finally exhaled all the air from his body.

Floating in the dark seawater, Gu Deng felt a strong sense of fear.

He once thought death was liberation, was peace, and could bring him calm. Only now did he realize that death was also pain, was plunder, was destruction.

He experienced a brief blackout, and when he regained consciousness, he heard the sound of waves.

Gu Deng used all his strength to swim towards the sound, his body already devoid of any stored oxygen, his lungs, heart, and brain on the verge of shutting down, only his body mechanically moving.

He didn’t want to die; he didn’t want to die here!

With a splash, Gu Deng broke through the water’s surface, gasping for air like a newborn baby.

The stars had disappeared, but light was coming from the east, the sun about to rise.

The sea and glaciers gradually took shape in the dawn, and Gu Deng climbed onto the rubber boat, feeling a strong sense of bewilderment and joy. He had been given a second chance at life.